


Talk Dirty To Me Baby

by islandgirl_246



Series: Just You and Me [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Stiles, Christmas Vacation, Fluff and Smut, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandgirl_246/pseuds/islandgirl_246
Summary: Peter slid open the glass doors and the strains of Rihanna’sLove On The Brainalmost bowled him over. What he immediately noted however was Stiles’ voice belting out the lyrics, and Peter immediately stiffened in his shorts. The songstress was from this country and they’d heard more than a few of her songs on the local radio stations over the last few days, even in the airport when they’d arrived.There, in the kitchen with a wooden spoon in his hand and something delicious smelling simmering on the stove, Stiles used the utensil as a mic as he grinded obscenely to the lyrics. Peter’s mouth went dry. He wanted; salivated; and immediately burned with predatory need for his lover.He was moving toward Stiles before his dick was even fully erect.





	Talk Dirty To Me Baby

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been planning to post this for the last three days, but each day I couldn’t cause I hated it. I don’t particularly like Christmas holiday stories and everything about this just felt wrong. So I tried again yesterday with a new editing direction and some different ideas as to where I could take it and it worked . . . sorta – I think. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> I was going to tag this Explicit because of some sexually suggestive scenes, but I don’t think they go far enough for that rating. We are at month 19 into 20 now of this Steter relationship.

Peter was frowning down at some documents before him. He’d spent most of the day in court – Stiles knew this. But now he wasn’t sure what it was Peter was frowning at just so.

He’d been standing here for close to three minutes and the man had yet to raise his head and his forehead had yet to lose the furrow of intense concentration. Stiles smiled to himself, a delicious tilt lifting the corners of his lips upward, and a pleasant warmth settling in the pit of his stomach.

Maybe it was that he moved, made some kind of sound, whatever it was he did, Peter’s head suddenly snapped up and Stiles’ smile became broad, toothy. Peter’s was slower, once his brain connected the dots that yes, Stiles was here in his office.

“How long’ve you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Stiles said, stalking forward and closing the door and Boyd out behind him. He just continued walking until he’d circled Peter’s desk and had forced the man to swivel in his head almost 90 degrees to continue looking at him. Then Stiles reached out and turned his chair slowly before he climbed into Peter’s lap.

Peter’s smile transformed, expanding as wide as his eyes were hot, devouring. Stiles leaned in and slowly kissed him, slanting his head when Peter seemed to get really into it, and moaning as he felt his lover start to harden beneath him.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?” Stiles murmured.

“Ummm,” was all Peter managed to get out before Stiles silenced him again. When his brain started to shut down for lack of oxygen and over-stimulation, he pulled back to take a breath. “Stiles,” Peter moaned this time as the younger man moved in again to continue the assault on his mouth, and his hand started to snake beneath Peter’s jacket to unbutton his shirt. “Stiles,” he said again when hand met skin. “I have to finish this if I’m to clear my desk over the next two days before we take off.”

The lewd moan died in Stiles’ throat, coming out as a disgruntled groan instead. “I was hoping to steal you away now for lunch. Erica says you haven’t eaten and it’s almost three,” he said when he pulled back, and then reconsidered and smacked one last kiss on Peter’s lips.

“I thought you had tour discussions today,” Peter returned.

“All done. We’re pushing back the release date. Word is Vin Diesel has pushed up the release of the new Fast and Furious, which would mean a clash with us. So Norman and the crew are rethinking strategy. We certainly don’t want to compete with a franchise like that.”

Peter’s hands dropped absently to his hips and he began rubbing there almost in an absent gesture. “I can do lunch if we order in. I’ve got three cases to hand over by Friday and activity on one of them just picked up, so I’m going to have to be even more careful how I deal with it now.”

“In other words, a working lunch?” Stiles went loose in his lap like a puppet whose strings had been slowly disengaged. He looked ready to sigh, so Peter kissed him quickly, slipping hands behind his hips and scooting him forward, closer, more intimate.

“Sorry?” he said softly. “But you’ll have me to yourself for two weeks. Why don’t we order in? You can keep me company, or do you have a busy evening.” Peter was determined to keep his thoughts far from what the coming dates actually meant. Distraction with Stiles could possibly work.

“Lydia’s taking off again, so we’re having drinks with Laura, Erica and Kira before she does. Should be through by 8:30 or so, but I’m all yours til about 5 and then again at about 9 tonight. Anything I can do to help?”

“Nope, but you can handle the order while I make a few calls, then I promise you have my attention for about 30 minutes while we eat. I have a call at 4:30.”

Stiles did sigh this time, tossing a dramatic hand to his forehead and tossing said head back. “Oh, the hardships of life when your lover is a lawyer.” Peter chuckled. “Ok. I’ll take what I can get. How about Thai?”

Stiles slid off his lap to hunt up Erica and order lunch. Peter watched his ass with a smile on his face until it disappeared from view, then returned to his file. Two days, just two days and Stiles was all his. A tropical getaway. Just them.

+++++

Peter’s feet pounded across the hard sand of the beach. It was just gone 5 p.m. but the sun was still blistering heat across the expanse of tan coloured beach. He thought he’d known heat in Boston, but it was nothing compared to the brutality that was unimpeded tropical sunshine. He loved it but damn, he’d never worn so much sun lotion in his life and he didn’t even burn that easily.

He puffed out another breath as his legs burned from exertion. He’d replaced yoga this week for something a little more brutal as he always did in December, whether it was pounding on a punching bag or in a sparring ring at the sports centre near his penthouse in Boston. Running here across this tropical paradise was much more of a challenge, especially in sand, and his calves protested.

He’d left Stiles at the villa reading. The impressive home was owned by a friend of Stiles’; someone also in the film world. Stiles had filled his Amazon account with books he’d wanted to read but had little time with his busy schedule. Peter had forced himself not to bring work – a decision that was easier when Stiles threatened no sex if he did. Instead he’d got the latest John Legend album; some Ed Sheeran, and since landing on the island he’d discovered something called soca that was surprisingly rhythmic and completely hard to explain. The lyrics were completely bewildering and complex, words he couldn’t even understand sometimes because of the local dialect, but the beat – Jesus the beat was infectious. He’d caught Stiles a few times in the early morning shaking his hips as he prepped breakfast in the kitchen.

It was that music that drummed though his eardrums now from the digital player strapped to his arm, as the sweat dribbled from his skin, and he pushed his steps to meet the driving beat. It was insanity, but burningly good.

He slowed to a jog as the villa came into sight; then gradually to a stroll as he reached the back gate, checking his time and smiling. This run had been faster than two days ago. He spent a couple minutes stretching out his muscles before climbing the back porch. He’d begun using his yoga to stretch after a good run. It worked now – breathing deep and allowing the breath to clear his head as the running had. The air was so fresh here. With a slight chill right off the sea, even in the heat.

It was good to get away from all the memories Boston held this time of year. He’d checked in with Laura and Derek two days ago and would tonight again. But now the three-minute yoga routine left him running with sweat but cool, limber, relaxed.

Peter slid open the glass doors and the strains of Rihanna’s **_Love On The Brain_** almost bowled him over. What he immediately noted however was Stiles’ voice belting out the lyrics, and Peter immediately stiffened in his shorts. The songstress was from this country and they’d heard more than a few of her songs on the local radio stations over the last few days, even in the airport when they’d arrived.

There, in the kitchen with a wooden spoon in his hand and something delicious smelling simmering on the stove, Stiles used the utensil as a mic as he grinded obscenely to the lyrics. Peter’s mouth went dry. He wanted; salivated; and immediately burned with predatory need for his lover.

He was moving toward Stiles before his dick was even fully erect. Stiles spun, song dying on a gasp, with a hand to his heart, startled. Then he let out an embarrassed chuckle and his cheeks blushed red, and it tore a rumble from Peter’s throat. “Geez, you scared the shit outta me. How was your ru. . .” The words died in Stiles’ throat as a glistening, sweaty Peter prowled forward.

He saw Stiles’ throat bob as he swallowed deep at the look in his lover’s eyes. The song wrapped around them as Peter wordlessly reached behind him and turned off the stove on whatever Stiles had been preparing for dinner.

His hands gripped Stiles beneath his armpits and lifted. Stiles’ heart did a quick pitter-patter as Peter slid him, butt first onto the nearest counter. Stiles moaning his name only excited Peter more and he just had to . . . his mouth closed over Stiles’ cutting off all sound and dialogue. Peter shifted between his partner’s widening legs as the younger man scooted forward, seeking friction. They both groaned obscenely, now hard as rocks.

Peter gorged himself on the taste of Stiles, drifting from his lips, down his throat, and up the side of his face towards his ears, where he knew Stiles was especially sensitive. His hands roamed his partner’s compact physique, eliciting little purrs from Stiles.

He’d found out over the past two years that Stiles’ fitness regime to maintain his “actor’s body” was significantly more demanding than anything Peter himself did. It explained the lean tight muscles and the envy-worthy abs.

“Peter!” It was part gasp, part moan, and so fucking sexy to hear his name uttered like that; to know Stiles was near wrecked and he’d only just begun.

++++++

Stiles quickly divested Peter of his sticky top as the older man pushed the running shorts from his hips, standing naked before Stiles in seconds.

Stiles gasped and tried to catch his breath as his arousal kicked up a notch. Peter’s heavy hand pressing against Stiles crotch had him strangling out a desperate scream. If he wasn’t careful the neighbours might think he was being murdered in the villa.

He fumbled with the drawstring that held his own pants low on his hips, but was all thumbs, so he shimmied up so Peter could draw them off. His erect cock sprang free and Peter grasped him in a tight hand.

“I need you,” Peter murmured against his wet, red and throbbing lips.

“Please . . .” he said brokenly and it was the last thing he said for some time, but wouldn’t be the last time he uttered that word for the night.

++++++

“I’m starving.”

“Well, if someone had let me finish dinner . . .” Stiles rolled over on top Peter, tired, sore, sated and so damn happy he could feed on that feeling alone for a little longer.

“Right,” Peter ran a hand down Stiles’ back, already dried of sweat and just a bit sticky. “I can’t remember hearing a complaint when we christened the kitchen counter. In fact, if I remember correctly, you were a bit more aggressive than usual earlier.” He raised a brow as Stiles’ lips quirked up.

“Is that a complaint?”

“Hell no. I love it when you’re aggressive,” Peter rolled them so he was braced above Stiles and started to nibble on his earlobe.

“Ummm,” Stiles moaned. “I was merely pointing out that I would have been content to finish dinner first, but was interrupted.”

A hand circled Peter’s neck as Stiles pulled him into a languid kiss. “It was an excellent interruption. Admit it.”

“Ummm,” Stiles murmured against his lover’s lips. “It was something . . .” and giggled when Peter poked him in the ribs. Peter’s heart swelled. He’d never thought he could feel this, all of this. He nuzzled Stiles’ neck, breathing in the scent of him that he loved, planting little kisses against his collarbone. Stiles laughed and then sighed quietly. “Thank you for doing this with me.”

Peter hummed. “I think I should be the one thanking you.” Peter rolled onto his side, taking Stiles with him, folding the younger man into his body. Stiles smiled and snuggled in. _Ten minutes. Ten minutes and he’d get up to get them something to eat._

++++++

Peter arched his back and came with a shout, right hand braced against the shower wall, left hand buried in the sandy tresses of Stiles’ hair. Water pounded across Peter’s back where he’d attempted to shade a kneeling Stiles from the distracting currents.

Actual penetration in the shower wasn’t his favourite thing, but a good blowjob always left him weak kneed and willing to offer Stiles the moon. His lover climbed to his feet with a slight groan for having been kneeling for a while, and brought his lips to Peter’s.

“You might have to hold me up a bit,” Peter moaned as Stiles crowded him into the corner of the shower.

“I’ve a better idea,” Stiles peppered his cheeks, chin and neck with open-mouthed kisses.

“Ummm?”

“Why don’t I go fix us a fruit and cheese platter, with that bottle of wine Cheryl brought yesterday, and we can spend the rest of the day in bed.”

Peter smiled. “Are you trying to kill me? I don’t think I’ve used this many muscles in a while.”

Stiles laughed. “Liar. I’ve seen what you do with your yoga, remember?”

Peter rolled his eyes fondly, still supporting himself against the wall Stiles was pressing him more firmly into. “You know what I mean. I haven’t written you into my will yet, so if I die now, you get nothing.” He angled his neck to give Stiles better access.

Moles starkly on naked display, Stiles gurgled a laugh, “I promise you have no reason to fear. I make more than you do, love,” he returned between kisses.

Peter’s head snapped down, almost hitting Stiles on the nose with his chin. “Like hell you do!”

Stiles just cackled obscenely at the look of outrage on the high-priced attorney’s face. _Oh this was gonna be good._ “I’ll prove it . . . later. Touch me, now.” He covered Peter’s mouth again to shut him up, reaching up to shut off the shower.

He needed Peter inside him and as soon as possible, and gasped in delight as a finger penetrated him.

++++++

Peter raised the bottle to his head and took a long pull, the sole of one bare foot brushing against the patio as the hammock swung gently. The warm breeze coming off the sea was enough to quell the memories that he’d forced from the forefront of his mind these last two weeks. At least now he had something better with which to replace them.

The sun was painting beautiful landscapes across the western coastline, which they had a fantastically picturesque view of from the villa. Reds, oranges, yellows burned across the sky. He didn’t know how people could live like this every day and not die of contentment. He was wondering after his time here how he could return to Boston and look at it the same. Maybe they’d make this an annual trip.

His mind ran over the past week of Christmas. They’d had Christmas lunch with some locals they’d met. The way people opened their house to relative strangers on this island was nothing short of amazing, even if it was slightly insane. They had bumped into the Clarkes in the supermarket about five minutes away from the villa on more than one occasion. Each time they had exchanged a few friendly words and laughs. A quick friendship had formed.

\- - - - - -

He and Stiles had been standing in the frozen section trying to decide (bickering really) on what they would do for Christmas lunch. A colour voice had interrupted their snarkfest with an “e’scuse me.” Both men had turned instantly, reminded that they were in fact in the middle of the busy supermarket on Christmas Eve. Peter had been trying desperately all day to forget what today meant and arguing with Stiles was so far the only thing that worked.

“Hey, Cheryl,” Stiles had grinned in response, blushing slightly at being caught wickedly whispering to Peter what he’d like to alternatively do with the cranberry sauce in the cart. The sauce was the real reason they were looking for the perfect turkey in the freezer. The woman standing before them had been the one to recommend quite a few of the places they had visited on the island over the previous week. “You need something from here?” Stiles was already shifting their shopping trolley out of the way.

“No hun, I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re staying for Christmas tomorrow?”

“Yes, but Mr. Grumpy McGrumperson here, doesn’t want to do the whole cooking shebang and I really want turkey,” Stiles said, cutting a fond eye at Peter. The older man gave a put-upon sigh. He knew Stiles was determined not to let him fall into the doldrums, especially with the significance of these days.

“Then come to our house,” Cheryl Clarke invited as her daughter Ingrid walked over looking up from the label on the bottle she had in her hand to her mother and the two men.

“Heya Peter, Stiles . . . Mom, I think we could use dis one instead. Dey don’t have de one we accustom buying.”

“Leh muh see,” Cheryl had reached for the bottle. “By de way, Peter and Stiles coming fuh Christmas lunch,” the mother declared. Ingrid’s face lit up, and that was the end of that. Before Peter and Stiles knew what had hit them, their trolley was abandoned to the side of the aisle and they were shopping with the Clarkes.

Christmas lunch had been in a cozy but crowded home with about 25 people and more dropping by throughout the day. The buzz had helped Peter to focus on something other than himself and this anniversary of loss. As the day had drawn on, he’d found the only quiet spot was in a rocking swing, hanging from a massive mango tree in the Clarkes’ backyard. He’d been there maybe two minutes, when Cheryl sat beside him.

“Love and family. It’s what makes this season what it is for us,” she’d said sagely.

“Hmmm,” was all Peter could managed as he sipped on his beer. He’d been careful about not drinking too heavily. Usually his Christmas was marked by a drunken stupor and broken glass – tumblers, wine glasses, plates, china, it really didn’t matter what. At least he knew back in Boston, Derek and Laura were spending the weekend with Lydia, Kira and Erica. They were making new traditions all of their own.

“Stiles told me you lost your sister and niece some years ago around this time.” Peter’s throat was tight and he fought to swallow the mouthful of beer as Cheryl continued, “Don’t be angry with him. I saw it in your eyes and knew something was up, so I asked.” Her head lifted to the music that had started playing in the house, followed by boisterous and lewd laughter. She smiled.

“I know what it’s like. I lost my husband, Ingrid and Charles’ daddy, three years ago on this day.” Peter’s head turned in her direction, his eyes drifted close at the corresponding pain he saw there. “We were having lunch like this. He got up went into the kitchen for another bottle of wine, I followed to grab a few more glasses and the next thing we knew he was on the floor behind me. Heart attack. They weren’t able to save him. This year would have been our 30th anniversary.”

“How?” Peter croaked. “How can you do this? How do you do it?”

“Because those people in there keep his memory alive. The first Christmas after we lost him was the hardest. I pretty much wanted to cancel Christmas. You see, this is a tradition that goes back in our family for more than 75 years. This used to be my parents’ house, and my father’s parents’ house before that. There’s a lot of history here, a history of Christmas gatherings. Took my family to remind me of that. To remind me that if we gave up, gave in, the grief would have crushed us all, and wiped out decades of memories from this family. So each year we toast and remember him and everyone who’s not here, because I want my children to be able to continue this once I’m gone.”

She laid a hand on Peter’s leg. “It gets easier if you let it. But you have to let it, Peter. Stiles brought you here so you could remember something else at Christmas for a change. Something good. Hang onto that man cause he could make it better,” she nodded, “but only if you let him.” With one gentle squeeze she got up and left him alone with his thoughts.

By the time Peter and Stiles had left the Clarkes’, it was nightfall and they’d made Old Year’s Night (New Year’s Eve) plans to go to a big party with some of the family members. And Peter was determined to do just what Cheryl advised. He’d try to let go this Christmas, concentrate on the good memories of Talia and Cora, and not as he last saw each of them.

By New Year’s Day Peter knew he and Stiles had found a set of new friends for life.

++++++

They had been scheduled to leave the island today, January 2, but Peter had extended the time, adding a third week on the island. It had been a last minute decision to spend more time alone with Stiles. Peter pushed himself to swing the hammock outward once more.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Stiles asked, squeezing into the hammock beside him, curling into his side and enjoying the beautiful sunset. Peter slipped an absent arm around him.

“Have I told you yet today how much I love you?” Peter tilted his head and dropped a kiss on Stiles’ hairline. The younger man sighed, a silly smile shaping his lips. “Yes.”

“Good, cause I do.”

“So no regrets?”

“How could I regret having you all to myself?”

Stiles shifted and his muscles protested a bit. They had returned to the villa in the wee hours of yesterday morning from drinking and partying all of the night before. They had shared in a breakfast beachside picnic on the eastern coast of the island to watch the sun rise on a New Year’s. But even as they’d got in, Peter had somehow still found the energy to fuck him into the mattress. _Not that Stiles was complaining._ It had been fast and frantic at first, but once Stiles had orgasmed on Peter’s dick alone, Peter had slowed. At that point it had become a most heartrending, and beautiful love-making – unlike any they’d shared before. The man wrung sounds and emotions from him that Stiles didn’t even know were possible. _God he would miss this place once they got back to Boston._

“We’ve got three days left.” Peter lifted Stiles’ hand, brushing his lover’s knuckles and wrist repeatedly against his lips softly.

“Ummhmm. I was thinking we could try the submarine dive Haskel told us about tomorrow. Plus we can’t not take back souvenirs – Erica would string you up by your toes. And Ingrid asked if we wanted to go with her and Phillip to Oistins one last time on Friday night before we take off early Saturday morning. I told her we’d let her know,” Stiles raised lazy eyes to him.

“Sounds good.”

They had a 10 a.m. flight back to the States on Saturday morning, but that meant a check-in time of between 7 a.m. and 8 a.m. for international flights from the island. Peter was dreading it and had considered booking them a private jet until Stiles smacked him across the head for being ridiculous.

“Boyd and my driver will pick us up from the airport. Boyd says photos of us have surfaced in the papers and online again. Seems some paparazzo might have been there for the party at The Hilton and took some snaps of us on our ‘exclusive Caribbean holiday’,” Stiles raised fingers in an exaggerated quoting gesture.

“Hmmm,” he kissed Stiles this time, tasting of the local beer. “At least it came at the end of our holiday, so we shouldn’t expect too much of a bother the next few days,” Peter suggested. Stiles faded into silence. “I can hear that brain of yours turning. I know, we’ve had near three great weeks in paradise and you don’t want to leave, but we’ve both got jobs to get back to.”

“’s not that.”

Peter frowned at him. “So what is it?”

“Kira and Derek . . . and Erica and Boyd.”

Peter barked a laugh. He’d been expecting this conversation since Thanksgiving.

Stiles eyes flew up to his. “What?”

“You’re kinda late on both fronts. Kira and Derek weren’t exactly subtle at Thanksgiving.”

“I know, but  . . . do you think Derek is ready for a relationship?”

Peter breathed deeply. It was something he’d thought about and had brought up with Derek during one of their calls last week. He had to believe that Derek knew how far and how fast he should and could go with this. “Who says it has to start out as a relationship? We didn’t, remember. They could take the gradual approach”

“No, I know that, Peter. But we aren’t them. I’m just . . . worried. I know he’s your nephew, who’s more like a son than an actual nephew to you, but I don’t want Kira to get hurt.”

“Look, Stiles. Derek has been through a lot; is still going through a lot, and has never been the most expressive of people. If Kira’s expecting an immediate relationship without the more than occasional bump and drag, then she should probably look elsewhere. I won’t have him rushed. If she wants him, she’s going to have to be very patient with him, and from what I saw, and everything you’ve said, she seems to be the type not to want to rush into things. So unless there’s something else that has made you reconsider that evaluation of her character, I’d say we should return the favour and stay out of their affair just like we asked them to stay out of ours,” Peter said with no little amount of finality in his voice.

Stiles squeezed his hand. “Look . . . ok . . . ok, you’re right. It’s just that she’s been through a lot too and it shouldn’t be one-sided. He needs to also understand her issues.”

“Stiles, honey, they’re adults. Stay out of it. If Derek needs to talk things out, he’ll find me or Laura. And Kira knows she has you, regardless of whatever we are to each other. Trust them to know what they’re about, and if we don’t interfere then they can go at a pace that suits both of them and work out the issues as they come.”

Stiles nodded his silent acceptance. He knew Peter was right. “And Erica and Boyd? Should we stay out of that too?”

Peter scoffed. “Do you really want to get in the middle of Erica and your bodyguard? I sure as fuck don’t.”

And Stiles giggled, and kept on giggling until it erupted into peals of laughter. Peter joined him in a chuckle seconds later.

Yeah, Peter was right. A strong-headed woman and a silent as night man who gave new meaning to the word stubborn as a bull? Yeah, they were on their own with that shit. It just seemed that every time their paths crossed they ended up butting heads. The last time Peter had been the one to pull Erica back from wanting to throw a stapler at Boyd’s head. The man had just smirked at her enigmatically and walked away, while Erica fumed.

Peter smacked another soft kiss to Stiles’ lips as his mind drifted to his assistant. The first few times Boyd had accompanied Stiles to his office, Erica had tossed her sexuality at the bodyguard, only to be rebuffed with a raised brow or a subtle look of disappointment. It had been cutting and had left Erica unsettled – a fact Peter heard more than he needed to about it.

Then the blatant sexuality had turned into a faked indifference and finally to anger – at least on Erica’s part. Peter wondered when she’d realise that either approach would never work with a man like Vernon Boyd. It was only when she was too pissed to watch her words or actions that he saw the crack in Boyd’s armour. He knew what the man was waiting for – for a drop of facade and those moments when the real firebrand showed herself. When she became the Erica Peter knew all too well.

So no, he would not get involved. Aside from the fact that he and Stiles were blissfully happy and wanted that kind of happiness for their friends and family, he would not stoop to interfering after they’d done so much to get their respective circles to respect their own relationship.

Nope, they’d just have to figure it out on their own.

He turned to Stiles, slipping a finger beneath his chin and tilting his face up for a long, leisurely kiss that went from zero to nuclear in minutes, and Peter’s hands started to roam.

“Mmmmm, Peter, no, I can’t,” Stiles muttered, with regret in his tone as his lips ravaging his lover’s. “I’m tired, and a bit too tender after yesterday and this morning.”

“Really? Because I was hoping we could try some of those toys you didn’t want me to know you’d brought, or rather, you could try them out,” ( _kiss_ ) “on me.”

Stiles eyes went wide with surprise and then glittered with delight. _Yeah, three days left wasn’t nearly enough time to wring the number of orgasms he wanted out of his boyfriend. But he’d sure as fuck give it a good try._

Grinning he scrambled awkwardly from the hammock, limbs flying everywhere, barely missing an elbow to Peter’s chest and only managing not to face-plant when Peter caught him at the last minute. Giggling he dragged Peter from the swaying hammock. Stiles was already chubbing in his shorts as Peter started chuckling this time.

_Oh, he’d wipe that smirk off his lover’s handsome face alright, just give him 20 minutes._

**Author's Note:**

> Again, it’s fine if you don’t have much to say; but if you do, leave me a note and I will respond. 
> 
> I’m on tumblr even though I don’t use it a lot (as deislandgirl-blog), but I have some original pieces I won’t put on AO3 that I’ll be posting there instead in coming weeks. Feel free to look me up. Thanks for reading.


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